


every part of me, every part of you

by bluebacchus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Consentacles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Edward Little Cries During Sex, M/M, Other, Parasite-style tentacle monster, Rimming, Sensory Overload, Tentacle Sex, embarrassing love confessions, monster Jop, ongoing consent negotiations, tentacles but make them soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebacchus/pseuds/bluebacchus
Summary: There's something odd about Jopson. Lieutenant Little is determined to find out what it is.[Jopson has a tentacle monster living inside him and it's had enough of watching their host moon over the handsome lieutenant.]
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	every part of me, every part of you

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for theterrorbingo prompt: roommates
> 
> Everyone I talked to about this idea has said "Oh, sort of like Venom!" so fine, Jopson has a symbiote.

“I know what you are.”

Jopson ignores him, or perhaps he does not hear him over the howl of the wind. He knows Edward is there, though, because he turns his head so his profile cuts a dark outline against the bright aurora and says, “You don’t have watch until the morning, sir. It’s too cold to be on deck.”

“And yet here you are, Jopson,” Edward responds. Hedges is leaning against the bow, hands tucked under his armpits and deep in conversation with one of the ship’s boys. He pays them no mind.

“As are you, Lieutenant Little.” Jopson finally turns away from the expanse of frozen sea. His eyes shine like the aurora that shifts and pulses above his head.

“You come up here each night after your duties are complete. You miss the sea.”

Jopson reaches up and tucks a stray lock of hair under his cap. “I may be a steward, sir, but I am a sailor, same as you.”

Edward shakes his head. “Not the same.”

Jopson cocks his head to one side and frowns. Edward’s chest clenches at the innocent gesture, at how darling Jopson looks with pink cheeks and his cap pulled low over his brow. It only bolsters his resolve, cementing his knowledge that Jopson is not of this world.

“I, for example, have no officers under my enchantment,” he says.

Jopson laughs. Puffs of visible breath flow from his mouth, and he licks his cracked lips before the laughter dies and simmers down to an amused smile.

“Forgive me, Lieutenant. I shouldn’t laugh, but I have no such enchantments. No spells, no potions, no song that leads sailors to a watery grave. Is that what you think I am, sir? A siren?”

Edward nods. “How else could you have this effect on me?”

And what an effect it was. He can hardly think for wanting Jopson. Each time he returns below decks, it is the steward’s face he searches for. He drinks far too much Allsopp’s at dinner, only to have Jopson at his elbow, refilling his glass. And at night, he lies awake for hours, consumed with all kinds of lascivious thoughts of dark hair fanned out his pillow, of lips kissed pink and swollen, of Jopson wanting him, searching him out, and taking him.

Jopson shakes his head with a soft smile on his lips. “I am a man, sir. Same as you. Well, perhaps not quite the same.”

Edward looks down in shame. He had been so _certain_. If not about what manner of creature Jopson is, then certainly that Jopson longed for him and used his magic to instill the same feelings of desire within Edward.

“Would you like to know, sir?” Jopson says. He is closer now; when Edward looks up, he is within arm’s reach. “If you desire me as you do, will you still want me when you see what I am?” Jopson’s voice quiets. “Would you like to see _all_ of me?”

Edward, like a man possessed, nods.

They retreat to Edward’s cabin.

“We’ll need space,” Jopson says, and Edward does not question him. His blood sings in his heart, and his muscles scream to pull Jopson near and feel his weight pressed against his skin. But he is frightened also, and Jopson does not speak again until the door slides shut behind him.

“Are you certain about this, sir? You…” Jopson pauses as he unbuttons his greatcoat. “It may not be what you had expected.”

Before he can stop himself, Edward says, “Nothing about you is what I expected, Jopson.”

Jopson smiles. “Would you call me Tom, sir? You’re about to learn my secret, and I’d like to be reminded that I am still myself.”

“Of course, Jopson. Tom. You must call me Edward. After all, I have just confessed my love for you on deck and I would prefer to not be reminded of my station.” Edward tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled, uncomfortable sound akin to the braying of an ass. He certainly feels like one.

Tom laughs, and gestures to Edward’s own bed for him to sit. He tugs off his neckerchief and drapes it over the back of the chair at Edward’s small writing desk. His waistcoat, sweater, and shirt follow. Standing in front of Edward, bare from the waist up, Tom looks remarkably normal. Goosepimples rise on his skin as Tom runs his hands over his belly. Edward reaches for him, eager to touch his skin, but Tom shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You won’t want me after you see what I am,” Tom says. A wave of ripples pass over the bare skin of Tom’s midriff, and he grimaces. “It’s okay,” Tom says.

“Yes,” Edward nods.

“You can come out.”

Edward’s confusion only multiplies when the ripples return, and, beneath the trail of dark hair that leads to the waistband of Tom’s trousers, a vertical rift opens in his belly and an appendage, dark as tar and shiny in the lamplight, worms its way out of Tom. It twists and waves in the space between them before another long, slick thing pushes its way out beside it. This one is bolder, and it wiggles its way through the air until it brushes its tip against Edward’s cheek. It’s warm and wet where it explores his face with soft caresses, and when it pulls away with a smack Edward can see a gap that resembles a tiny mouth. He raises a hand to his cheek and looks at Tom in awe.

Tom is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, watching Edward’s reaction unblinkingly.

“What is it?” Edward says stupidly.

“A parasite, I think.” One of the tentacles makes a hissing sound and Tom laughs, extending a hand to pet it like he does Neptune. “A friend, I suppose. I was taken ill in the tropics, back when I was an AB. Stomach cancer.”

“Like Napoleon,” Edward adds, somewhat unhelpfully.

“It eats my disease,” Tom says, “and I give it a home. Dr. Goodsir would call it a symbiotic relationship, were he here. Me? I prefer to think of them as my roommates.”

Another tentacle emerges from the gap and flails its way towards Edward’s face. Edward raises a hand, and the tentacle latches on, coiling around his arm and pulling him up and throwing him into Tom’s chest.

They collide with such force that they’re both knocked to the floor, Edward straddling Tom’s hips. Tom is flushed and panting beneath him, and Edward’s awe and curiosity give way to his overwhelming desire. He bows his head and kisses Tom. Between them, the tentacles wind around Edward’s arms and begin pulling the clothes from his body.

“Oh!” he exclaims. A tentacle has worked its way under his smallclothes and sucks against his nipple. Tom watches, wide-eyed and aroused.

“Does this normally happen?” Edward whispers. Like Tom, he’s now bare to the waist. Unlike Tom, his chest and back are covered in smooth, moist tentacles that nuzzle and suck and caress his skin. Tom moans underneath him.

“We want—the same—things,” he pants. “We feel—the same—things.” He reaches towards Edward, only to have his own tentacles pin his arms against the floor. They understand his desire. They must. So when Edward is grabbed by the hair and his head is pushed down to meet Tom’s kiss, he does not fight.

Tom’s tongue is warmer than the tentacles but just as wet; he licks at the corner of Edward’s mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, and when he pulls away (when he is _allowed_ to pull away), Edward can still feel Tom’s kiss on his lips.

“You’ve wanted this?” Edward asks breathlessly.

Tom nods. “Ever since I first saw you on deck.”

“And them?” Edward gestures at the black appendages. They have retreated somewhat—only the ones wrapped around his bare arms remain.

“They took a bit longer to come around,” Tom says.

“They didn’t _like_ me? Cheeky little things, aren’t they?”

A tendril emerges from the gap in Tom’s stomach to pet Edward’s whiskers. It leaves a trail of something wet across his face, across his mouth. Without thinking, he sticks his tongue out to taste it. It tastes like the smell of honey in the autumn. Tom is watching him with wide eyes, pupils blown wide. Edward licks again, and this time his new friend is there to meet him. The tendril caresses his tongue with its pointed tip before pushing gently past the seam of his lips and into his mouth.

Tom is panting now, and it is for the first time now that Edward notices how his cock strains against his trousers. They have not done anything more than kiss, and Edward is half-hard in his pants, but Tom is shifting against the floorboards, rocking back against something that is making his breath catch in his throat and his cheeks colour pink.

Edward watches until he can’t anymore. The tendril in his mouth is oozing that sweet, crisp-tasting liquid and he sucks and licks, running his tongue over the smooth, glossy tip of the thing in his mouth. It’s too much and not enough all at once: he wants more, but he wants more of Tom.

The tentacle withdraws.

And then Tom stands, turns, and pushes his trousers down to his knees. He bends over Edward’s berth. One of his tentacles is buried between his arsecheeks, pulsing like a great, black vein. It slides in further, and Tom keens; it withdraws and Tom whimpers.

It’s preparing him. It’s preparing him for _Edward_.

The thing withdraws with a smacking sound, tracing its honey-liquid across the swell of Tom’s backside. Edward crawls towards his berth on his hands and knees. His mouth waters for more. It’s just him and Tom now—the parasite retreated back into whatever haven it has made inside of Tom—and he relishes the privacy as he licks up the sweet nectar that has been left behind. He lets his mouth explore—down to the dark hair that dusts Tom’s thigh, up to the dimples on his back. Tom’s skin tastes just as good. Better.

Better for the panting and moaning of the man underneath him, who whimpers in pleasure when Edward lowers his head, parts Tom’s cheeks, and licks a broad stripe over his hole. He has been opened up by the tentacle, and Edward’s tongue catches on the rim. Tom’s legs start to shake. Edward licks again, and again, flicking his tongue over the ring and chasing the flavor of honey that lingers on his entrance and inside him.

“Please,” Tom gasps. “I want you.”

Edward pushes him forward onto the small bed and they tumble together, limbs twined together and holding each other close. Tom kisses every part of Edward he can reach: his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, and finally his lips.

There is a rippling underneath his belly and the mass of great, squirming things emerge again to wrap around Edward’s back and legs to caress and suck little marks into his skin. They’re longer now, thicker, and they pull Edward off Tom until he is standing on the bed with his feet barely touching the flat, firm mattress. He has a little sucking mouth on his neck, one attached to his earlobe, and two firmly clamped around his nipples when one finally touches his cock through his trousers.

Tom bolts upright and slaps it away.

“No,” he chastises. “That’s mine.”

Then Tom strips him of his trousers and longjohns and smallclothes and, keeping perfect eye contact, takes Edward’s cock into his mouth.

It’s heaven. It’s nirvana. It’s finding the Northwest Passage. It’s everything at once, and Edward’s knees give out but he is held up by those perfect, warm tentacles as they slither and slide across his naked body. The whole time, Tom watches from where he kneels between Edward’s legs, and Edward watches back.

He can’t tell exactly what Tom is doing; it’s wave after wave of intense pleasure. More than that, though, it’s joy. He feels so good, so happy that Tom is here with him, surrounding him in a way that no one else ever could. He loves the strange creature that holds him so tightly, because it is part of Tom and he loves him dearly. Here, in this cabin, he has seen all of Tom and now, he will let Tom see all of him. All his composure fades away. He gives himself over to feeling, and it’s so much. It’s too much.

He is not ashamed when the first tear falls, nor the second or the third. It’s only when they threaten to spill into full-fledged sobs that Edward tries to stifle them. He refuses to cry while being given the best blowjob of his life.

But Tom notices, because that’s who Tom is and if he wasn’t Tom, Edward wouldn’t love him like he does.

“Hey, hey,” he says, quietly, pulling off Edward’s cock. “Come here. Come down here, sweetheart.” The tentacles slacken and lower him slowly down to the bed into Tom’s waiting arms. A tentacle replaces Tom’s mouth, wrapping around his dick and sheathing it in its warmth.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Tom asks. Edward shakes his head and buries his tears in Tom’s neck. “You’re okay, Edward. You’re safe with us.”

“Overwhelmed,” he finally manages to choke out, and then all the tentacles withdraw, hovering tentatively over Edward’s body but not touching.

Tom sits up, gathering Edward against his chest and pulling a blanket over both of them. It catches on a particularly charismatic tentacle, which appears to frown and bite at the corner of the blanket.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Tom says. “I can leave.”

“No!” Edward nearly shouts. “I love you. And I want this. All of it, but I just…”

“Would it help,” Tom says politely, “if you were closer to me?”

Edward considers. “Perhaps if I could touch you? Your presence has always been… grounding, to say the least.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“I promise.”

Tom leans down to kiss him again, and it feels like Edward has taken flight. His head spins, angels sing, but he reaches out to cup Tom’s cheek in his hand and he is back on Terror, with Tom in his bed and a tentacle that has somehow snuck back around his dick and is stroking it back to full hardness.

“Okay?” Tom asks.

Edward smiles into his mouth. “Yes.”

Tom slides down the bed and pulls Edward over him, kissing him all the while. He can feel Tom reach between them. He must bat the tentacle away again, because for a moment the warmth is gone, but then there is a hand around his cock—Tom’s hand—and he leans down to nuzzle into Tom’s chest before collapsing onto shaking elbows and rolling onto his side.

Tom mirrors his position, and they’re face to face on Edward’s berth, Tom’s hand on his cock and his on Tom’s. They pant into each other’s open mouths, kissing when they remember to and otherwise luxuriating in a space where they can breathe the same breath.

“More?” Tom asks. Edward nods. The tentacles return, crawling along his heated skin. One dips between his arsecheeks, waiting for instruction. Edward nods again.

“Slowly,” he says, and the tendril obeys, stroking over his rim and spreading its secretions over it to ease its way. It’s smaller than he thought when it penetrates him. Maybe a finger’s width; two, at the most. It slides in easily. Edward feels his balls tighten between his legs. He never could hold out long with something inside him. Tom looks to be in the same position. His mouth hangs open, his head is thrown back, and he thrusts frantically into Edward’s hand. Edward wraps an arm around him, pulling them closer until he can feel where the tentacles enter Tom’s belly against his own body, and then he reaches down and takes both their pricks in his hand. Rutting against each other, each penetrated by a living, warm tendril that seems hell-bent on pulsing against his sweet spot with each thrust, is the push Edward needs to find his crisis, but it’s the image of Tom’s face as he spills across Edward’s hand that pushes Edward over the edge. He clenches around the tentacle in his arse and arches against Tom’s chest. Tom strokes his hair through it all, kissing him violently as soon as his shuddering orgasm has come to a close.

Edward feels amazing. He feels better than he has since they set said from Greenhithe. A large portion of that is joy from being tucked under a blanket with his darling Tom, but there’s something else.

“A tentacle up the arse! An instant remedy!” he expresses. “Who would have thought!”

Tom laughs. His friends have been tucked away, sated and apparently ready for bed. “It might be their…” He gestures at the pile of towels that lay piled on Edward’s basin, all soaked with the tentacle’s nectary secretions.

“Their juice?” Edward offers. Tom makes a face. “Magic juice?” Edward tries again.

“I was thinking ‘marmalade,’” Tom says. “You wouldn’t object to spreading that on toast, would you?”

Edward flushes. “I haven’t tasted anything that sweet since we set sail.”

“Well, maybe we can spike the grog with it and the whole crew can feel as healthy as you.”

“Is spiking the grog with tentacle juice outlawed in the Articles, do you think?”

Tom snickers against Edward’s chest. “But really,” Edward says. “Do you think it is magic juice?”

“They saved me,” Tom says, “and brought us together. What more magic could you ask for?”

Edward smiles, and wraps his arms more tightly around Tom’s midsection. Underneath the skin of Tom’s belly, Edward feels a little ripple, like Tom’s little friends are saying goodnight.


End file.
